hush, little baby

It was so much easier, then, to comfort him, to help him calm down, to soothe his spirit when he was upset from a belly ache, or just too tired. He's nearly 17 now, closing hard on 6 feet, and the hurts are so much deeper, so much more complex, and often inflicted by forces and influences out of my reach. But I wish, like sixteen and a half years ago, I could just pick him up and park his little diapered butt on my forearm, and press his little head against my shoulder. He'd be sobbing hysterically, gasping, out of control upset. I would put my mouth right next to his little ear, my lips brushing against him when they moved. Then I'd whisper a silly little made-up rhyme and he'd fall almost instantly silent to listen, distracted from his demons. I'd whisper, ''Hush little baby, don't you cry, Daddy's gonna buy you a punkin' pie...if that punkin' pie's not good, Daddy's gonna buy you a piece of wood...''. My opened hand, then, could reach all the way across his little back, and I'd start to slowly, firmly, rhythmically pat his back-full hand, whole back pats- while we whispered, and his breathing would gradually slow to match the rhythm of the patting. ''...If that piece of wood's not fun, Daddy's gonna' buy you a bang-bang gun. If that bang-bang gun won't shoot, Daddy's gonna' buy you a whistle toot-toot...''. I'd emphasize the ''shhh'' sounds, and the ''sss'' sounds, and blow on his ear just a bit with the ''wuh'' and the ''puh''sounds. I think I have the first 3 verses of our silly song right, but beyond those three, it was probably never the same twice in a row, because generally by the 3rd verse, he'd heave a big sigh, and surrender his troubled spirit to sleep. It always worked. Then,we'd lay on the bed, with him sleeping on my chest, or Lori would lift him into his crib, his demons vanquished and his little mind at peace. Now, his dragons are real, and whispering in his ear is insufficient to comfort his troubled spirit. If only, for as long as we are a parent, if only our silly words, or a song, or comforting arms would send the troubles away! It is a dangerous, scary time to be 16 or 17, and I just wish he could sleep on my chest until it passes.